Wasted Years
by ijimmiedthewindow
Summary: Sirius Black reflects on his life after 12 years in Azkaban. A one-shot song fic based on the song "Wasted Years" by Cold.


Sirius Black sat in his cell, his home of twelve years, on his uncomfortable bed as he gazed out of his tiny window that showed no more than a malevolent ocean and a monotonous grey sky. Sitting motionless, he looked like a statue. His eyes held no proof of a soul in which distinguishes man from stone. If friend or family were to look upon him now they would see no familiarity. No flash of passion that used to be ever present in his eyes. No handsome grin that once attracted women, muggle or magical, from every corner of the world. He looked no different than any of the other prisoners for they all eventually acquired a look of emptiness.

_There's a game life plays,_

_Makes you think you're everything they ever said you were._

_Like to take some time,_

_Clear away everything I planned. _

Sirius was innocent and only he knew it. Anyone else refused to believe it. His appearance now was enough to scare anyone away. Azkaban had that effect. It could make anyone look like a criminal, even an innocent child. Sirius was lucky and unlucky all at the same time. Even though his eyes belied the presence of a soul he still had one. Some of the people in the wretched prison were walking around without one. Sucked up by the dementors; gone in an instant, leaving their owners to live as an empty shell; to simply exist without feeling or emotion. He was unlucky because he was still alive. Oh how horrible a place would be to make a man crave death. Death was the easy way out. The lucky ones died quickly.

Living in Azkaban isn't just a normal existence that holds day, night, dusk, and dawn; it's more or less states of depression. There is only day and night here for the sky is never graced with the bright colors of a sunrise or the dark hues of a sunset. The day brings depression and loneliness and the night brings numbness and cold. The nights are dark and eerie. There are screams of other prisoners every night as they wake up from the grip of a terrible nightmare. Sirius has had a few of them himself. Never dreams. Dreams are pleasant. Sirius' nightmares were always filled with pain and anger; most of them were flashes of his friend's deaths. After a while, he learned to rely on feelings of anger, anything to keep the depression from creeping upon him. Sirius often thought of his family. There was plenty of anger there.

_Was it life I betrayed for the shape that I'm in?_

_It's not hard to fail; it's not easy to win._

_Did I drink too much, could I disappear?_

_And there's nothing that's left but wasted years. _

He thought of his mother and their relationship. What relationship? He laughed loudly in his silent prison cell although it sounded more like a grunt. His mother hated him because of his good heart. What a great reason to hate someone. He grimaced at the pleasure his anger was giving him. He would have smiled but somewhere throughout the last twelve years here he had forgotten how. His good heart ached with his new addiction but his mind would not let it succeed. After all, his heart had betrayed him too many times.

_There's nothing left but wasted years. _

Sirius recalled the look on his mother's face when he told her he was in Gryffindor. She cursed his name and chased him from her sight with her hand raised and ready to strike. As he lay in bed that night, he cried as his younger brother in the other bed insulted him for upsetting their mother. Dear old Regulus, mother's favorite, got into Slytherin. Regulus would do anything to please his mummy. That was of course a defining characteristic of a Slytherin; doing anything to gain power or respect or whatever you desire. Sirius' father on the other hand was always jealous of his son. Not of his personality, but of his success. Sirius was much more handsome than he was and he despised him because of it. Sirius assumed that his father hated him the most because Sirius was perfect and he threw it all away when he became a Gryffindor. He could no longer live with the favoritism for his brother and the hate for him. He ran away from home at age thirteen.

_If I could change my life,_

_Be a simple kind of man; try to do the best I can._

_If I could see the signs,_

_I'd derail every path I could. _

He moved into his best friend James' house. James' parents didn't mind at all and that was refreshing. Seeing James' parents as his own made his friendship with James stronger and he finally for once in his life felt whole. But then of course it was taken away from him. Shortly after school, his fellow Marauder Peter betrayed him. He betrayed James and Lily and Remus and now Sirius was the one rotting in prison for it. After he heard of James and Lily's death he knew that it was Peter. He arrived at Godrics Hollow so fast that he couldn't even remember the journey. Seeing the evil grin on Peter's face just before he pretended to kill himself sent Sirius into fits of humorless and hysterical laughter.

He didn't know why he was laughing at the time but after spending years in prison to dwell on that day made him realize why he did. It was because he had expected it to happen. He had been let down so much throughout life that he was beginning to expect his life to rot away from him and become only a twisted series of heart wrenching events. After Peter had blown himself up, authorities arrived out of nowhere and in every direction. He was caught and wrongly accused. Sirius recalled the night he was in prison when he heard about Lily and James' funeral. He was sent into a rage, tearing his cell apart until he was covered in blood. He cried himself to sleep that night as he lie on the cold floor, the blood shining on the moonlit floor.

_Now I'm about to die,_

_Won't you clear away from me?_

_Give me strength to fly away. _

Tears leaked down Sirius' cheeks as he sat perched still on his bed. The sadness was creeping upon him again. There was no way of stopping it. He tried desperately to become angry but it wasn't working.

_Was it life I betrayed for the shape that I'm in?_

_It's not hard to fail; it's not easy to win,_

_Did I drink too much, could I disappear?_

_And there's nothing that's left but wasted years. _

A newspaper dropped suddenly into his cell. He lunged for it. He combed it every day to look for news on Peter or Harry.

_Was it life I betrayed?_

_There's nothing left but wasted years. _

He skimmed every page frivolously.

_For the shape that I'm in._

_There's nothing left but wasted years. _

Then at the third page his eyes widened at large article and then squinted to small slits.

_It's not hard to fail. _

He spotted something familiar, something that made his blood boil. Peter Pettigrew.

_It's not easy to win. _

"He's at Hogwarts," he whispered to the silent and empty cell.


End file.
